Tread Softly

by Richard Laymon

  "Dad!" Julie looked appalled. "What if we want to go someplace afterward?"

  "I think you'd better come straight home."

  "For God's sake."

  "I mean it, Julie. I don't know what's going on — if it's just been a lot of bad luck or what — but I think we all need to be especially careful until things settle down a bit. So eleven o'clock, or you can stay home. That's final."

  "Thanks," she muttered.

  "I'll have her back by eleven," Nick said.

  "Fine. Well, have a good time, you two."

  "Sure thing," Julie muttered, and pulled open the gate.

  Nick followed her down the walkway alongside the house. "I'm sorry about all that," she said, looking back at him.

  "It's all right. Your dad's just worried. I guess everyone is. Man, I had no idea all this stuff's been going on. It was bad enough, what happened to Mom and Rose, but Karen and then Benny and then you ..."

  "It's looking kind of hairy, isn't it."

  "Maybe we should stay here."

  Julie grinned. "Scared to be out with me?"

  "Naw." He stepped up beside her as they cut across the front lawn.

  Julie spotted the red Mustang at the curb. Her eyebrows raised. "Not too shabby."

  He opened the passenger door for Julie, then went to the other side and climbed in. The heat inside the closed-up car was stifling. He turned the ignition. As the engine kicked over with a throaty grumble, he pressed switches to lower the windows. It didn't help much until he pulled away from the curb. Then a mild breeze came in, pushing the hot air out. He glanced at Julie. She was fastening her safety harness, her head turned down, her golden hair blowing slightly.

  "You sure look nice," he said.

  The buckle snapped into place. She raised her head and smiled. "Thank you. So do you. We sort of match."

  "Yeah." His yellow knit shirt was not as bright as her blouse, his slacks a lighter shade of green than her skirt. His gaze lingered on her knees.

  "You'd better watch where you're going," she said.

  "Where am I going? You'd better give me directions."

  "You want to make a left at the next stop sign."

  He followed her instructions, but couldn't stop himself from stealing glances as he drove. All through dinner, he'd been astonished by her appearance. Even now, he couldn't get over how different she looked in a skirt. He'd seen her in shorts, he'd seen her in a bikini, but somehow the skirt transformed her, made her seem softer, more mysterious and exciting. The way it draped her thighs. The way it left her knees bare.

  "Go right, up here at Ventura," she said.

  Nick made the turn.

  Except for giving directions, Julie remained silent. Her hands lay open and motionless on her legs. She seemed a little tense. Nick wished he weren't so nervous himself. Ever since their phone conversation last night, he'd been looking forward to this with a mixture of eagerness and dread.

  Our first date.

  What if something goes wrong? What if something doesn't go wrong?

  The way she looked in her skirt was no help at all.

  At least he didn't have to worry about taking her someplace after the movies. That was a relief. A disappointment. If only he'd known last night, he might've been saved the fevered tossing and turning in bed as his mind spun images of him and Julie parked on a dark road kissing, embracing, fumbling under clothes for hidden flesh. There would be none of that tonight after all.

  Maybe it wouldn't have happened anyway.

  At any rate, he should be able to relax and enjoy the evening more, knowing he had no choice but to take her straight home after the movies.

  "There it is," Julie said. "If you make a left at the next light, there's a big parking lot behind the theater."

  "Okay."

  She looked at him strangely. "Are you all right?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Is something the matter?"

  "No, I'm fine. How about you?"

  "I don't feel so hot, as a matter of fact."

  He signaled, and made the turn. "What's wrong? Should we go back?"

  "That wouldn't help."

  "Are you sick?"

  She didn't answer. Nick swung into the lot, pulled to a stop in a parking space, and frowned at Julie. "What's wrong?"

  "I asked you first."

  "I'm fine. Well, maybe a little nervous."

  "About the curse?"

  He shook his head. He had a tight feeling in his throat. "No. Just about . . . going out with you. I mean, this is our first time really being together, you know? It feels a little strange."

  "Is that all that's bothering you?"

  "I think so."

  "Well." She unfastened her buckle and pushed the harness aside. "I'm a little nervous, too. But you know what'll make it all better?" Reaching out, she curled a hand behind his neck and drew him closer. They kissed. Her lips were parted and moist, brushing against his mouth, then pressing firmly. Her other hand rubbed his chest, moved lower, caressed his belly, dropped to his left thigh. She kneaded his leg, squeezed and stroked it as if unaware of the way her wrist sometimes pushed against his groin. Then the hand went away. The lips went away. She stared into his eyes. "Feel better?" she asked.

  "Are you kidding?"

  "Not so nervous anymore?"

  "I feel great."

  "Me, too. Let's see the movie."

  Outside the car, he took Julie's hand. They walked together through the early evening sunlight. The kiss had worked, just as she'd said it would. It had ended the strangeness, made their closeness real again. Nick felt relaxed and fine. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand to buy the tickets. Though the films were R-rated, the girl in the booth didn't question their ages.

  "Would you like popcorn?" Nick asked as they entered the air-conditioned lobby.

  "Not right now. I'm stuffed."

  "Me, too. Maybe at intermission."

  Julie smiled strangely, as if she knew something he didn't. "Maybe," she said.

  The theater wasn't crowded. They chose seats near the center with no one to block their view. When the lights darkened, Julie leaned closer to Nick. She smiled, and nudged his elbow off the armrest. "Pushy," he whispered.

  "That's me."

  He stared at the screen. An ad for the Los Angeles Times was showing. His arm, pressed by Julie's shoulder, hung down across his leg. It felt awkward and useless. His nervousness came back. He should put the arm around Julie.

  Come on, what're you waiting for?

  He felt quivery and dry-mouthed.

  The title of the feature film, Getting It, appeared over a scene of teenaged girls playing basketball in a school gymnasium. As the credits finished, the teacher blasted her whistle and the girls ran for the locker room.

  Come on, arm! Now!

  He couldn't force himself to lift it.

  On the screen, the girls were trotting into the locker room, their shouts and giggles echoing.

  "You oughta go for this," Julie whispered.

  Her voice took away the worry. He put his arm across her shoulders. Amazing how easy it was. He let out a trembling breath as she snuggled against him. Why had he even hesitated? Well, it didn't matter now. He caressed her shoulder, making the fabric slide over the smoothness of her skin, the narrow band of her bra strap.

  Some of the girls were showering now. The camera gave glimpses of their nudity. Then three boys rushed into the shower room, whooping and hollering, wearing only jockstraps. While most of the girls screamed, a slim attractive blonde laughed and attacked. She tackled a chubby guy. His friends fled. Other girls joined in. By the time he made his escape, the main girl was waving his jockstrap like a flag.

  The scene changed. She paraded into a classroom wearing the jock on her head. Julie gasped, "Oh, no!" and the audience roared. The matronly teacher looked aghast. The girl walked up to the chubby boy's desk, plucked the jock from her head, and pulled it down over his face.

  The boy's name was Ralph. The gi
rl was Cindy. She was captain of the cheerleading squad, the most popular girl in school, and she wanted nothing to do with Ralph. Ralph wanted "in her pants."

  As the movie went on, following his antics, Nick continued to caress Julie's shoulder and upper arm. Her blouse was getting damp from his hand. His arm was getting numb. Finally, he lowered it. He rested his hand on his leg. Julie reached down, took hold of it, and squeezed it.

  Ralph, in the dark outside Cindy's house, serenaded her, playing "Lady of Spain" on a sousaphone. She went to her bedroom window and mooned him.

  With his free hand, Nick stroked Julie's forearm, barely touching it, feeling the soft light brush of its hair, the sleek skin.

  Though he and Julie laughed at some of the film's raunchy antics, he began to get annoyed. The movie showed sex as a crude joke, not as something beautiful and strange, the way it should be, the way he wanted it to be with Julie. The kids were "copping feels," trying to "get it on," to "lay pipe," to "fuck their brains out." There was no tenderness, no caring, no making love. Nick began to wish they'd chosen a different movie. At least this one seemed to be nearing an end. The next feature, a spy thriller, should be a real improvement.

  Julie lifted their hands over the armrest. She lowered them onto her leg. Nick felt the heat of it through the thin fabric of her skirt.

  Though Cindy was doing a striptease for Ralph, the sight of her naked breasts and writhing body seemed not nearly so exciting to Nick as the feel of Julie's leg under his hand. If he inched their locked hands down a bit, he might get past the hem to her bare knee. While he tried to work up the nerve, Julie slid their hands to the very place he wanted. She loosened her grip. As his fingers closed gently over her leg, she stroked the back of his hand. His mouth was parched, his heart racing.

  Cindy, done with the striptease, flopped naked onto the bed. Ralph had finally earned a "toss" with her by dumping a truckload of manure on her unfaithful boyfriend and his new girlfriend while the two were "scoring" in the backseat of his new convertible. Face flushed, eyes bulging, Ralph tossed off his clothes. "Come and get it!" Cindy called. With a whoop of delight, Ralph dived at her sprawled body. A freeze-frame caught him in midair. The words "The End" flashed across his rump.

  Nick gave Julie's leg a gentle squeeze as the final credits rolled. Then he took his hand away. When the lights came on, she smiled at him. "Well," she said, "what did you think?"

  "The movie? It was all right."

  "A real gross-out, huh?"

  "That's for sure."

  "Well, I'm glad poor Ralph finally got his wish. He sure worked hard enough for it."

  The words excited Nick. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. "Are you ready for some popcorn or something?"

  Julie got that mysterious look on her face. "That depends."

  "On what?"

  "How badly do you want to see the next movie?"

  The question stunned Nick. He stared at her. "What do you mean?"

  "Dad says I have to be home by eleven. It's only eight-thirty. If we leave now ..." She raised her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

  "Are you serious?"

  "If you'd rather stay for the movie . . ."

  "No. I don't care about that. I ... uh ... I don't think we'd win any points with your dad."

  "He doesn't have to know."

  "Jeez, Julie."

  "Are you game?"

  He let out an uneasy laugh. "Yeah, sure, I guess so."

  "Great. Let's get out of here." She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, and stood up.

  They sidestepped toward the aisle. Nick felt tight and jittery. We shouldn't do this, he thought. But he wanted to. He was scared, but he wanted to.

  Where'll we go? Park someplace. Oh, my God.

  In the lobby, she squeezed his hand. "Right back," she said, and pushed through a restroom door.

  He remembered his promise not to let her out of his sight. Well, he couldn't follow her into the ladies' room. Ralph might, but not him.

  He hurried to the men's room. One of the urinals was vacant. He stepped up to it. The underside of his penis felt wet and slick. Either the movie or Julie had excited him a lot. He didn't think it was the movie.

  In the lobby again, he looked for Julie. He didn't see her. Apparently, she was still in the restroom. He waited. Slowly, the line at the refreshment stand dwindled. An usher in a red blazer shut the doors to the auditorium, signaling the start of the second feature.

  Nick paced. He stared at the restroom door.

  It finally opened, but the girl who came out wasn't Julie.

  What was taking her so long?

  Had something gone wrong?

  The girl behind the refreshment counter was pumping butter flavoring onto a tub of popcorn for the last customer. Maybe, when she finished, Nick would ask her to check on Julie. That could turn out embarrassing.

  He'd give Julie a couple more minutes.

  He gazed at the second hand of the wall clock behind the counter. It moved quickly, sweeping past the numbers. He watched it make three circuits of the face. Still, he hesitated to interfere.

  The restroom door stayed shut.

  Come on, Julie! What's wrong?

  Chapter Thirty-four__________

  Can I turn it up?" Rose asked.

  "May I durn'd up," Alice corrected, her speech thick from too much wine.

  "Go ahead," Flash said. He could hardly hear himself think, much less hear the television. The helicopter was making another pass low over the house. It had been circling the neighborhood for the past ten minutes, the whapping noise of its rotors deafening at times, then receding, then growing to a roar as it came back.

  He watched Rose crawl to the television, reach up with her bandaged arm, and turn up the volume. She crawled backward to the place where she'd been sitting on the carpet. She crossed her legs.

  Alice stared at the ceiling. She looked as if she might cry. "Why dudn' he go 'way," she said.

  "Must be looking for a prowler. This time, at least, it's not three o'clock in the morning." That's when the police helicopter usually put in its appearance — seemed like once a month — waking them up, circling for half an hour, sometimes as long as an hour, hovering low over the houses, its searchlight sweeping the lawns and streets. It was a nuisance. A little frightening, too. It reminded him of 'Nam, and it wasn't used for routine patrols. Its presence meant that a suspect was out there. Somewhere close. You always wondered who he was, what he'd done, where he might be lurking.

  Alice, beside him on the couch, leaned forward and reached out with her left hand. Her fingertips bumped the wineglass, knocked it over. Chablis sloshed out onto the table.

  Heather, in a rocking chair across the room, looked up from her book and frowned.

  Alice saw her. "You try'n use yer lef han'," she blurted. Her face was puckered and red.

  Flash rubbed the back of Alice's neck. The tense muscles felt like iron. "It's okay, honey. We all have little accidents. I'll clean it up."

  She nodded. Her lips were pressed together. She stared down at her right arm, wrapped in a cast from fingertips to shoulder, held against her chest by a sling. Her mouth started to tremble.

  "I'll get you some more wine, too," Flash said as he pushed himself off the couch.

  Heather put down her book. She followed him to the kitchen and leaned against the stove, watching him take a fresh bottle of wine and a can of Budweiser from the refrigerator. Her pale eyebrows were drawn together.

  "Don't let your face freeze that way," Flash said.

  "She's bombed," Heather said.

  "Don't say that."

  "Well, she is."

  "So what," he snapped.

  Heather flinched and blinked. She looked as if she might start bawling.

  "I'm sorry," Flash said. "It's all this damn noise.''

  "You shouldn't let her drink so much."

  "If she wants to get plastered out of her skull tonight, that's fine by me. Normally, I'd ..." He realize
d he didn't need to talk so loudly; the roar of the chopper had faded a bit. "Normally, I'd be right with you, honey. It's not good to drink too much. But your mother went through a terrifying experience this morning. She and Rose both."

  "Rose isn't getting bombed."

  "She can if she wants."

  Heather looked as if she thought her father had gone crazy.

  "Why don't you wipe off the coffee table for me?"

  With a shrug of her delicate shoulders, she limped ova to the counter. She tore a yard of paper towels off the roll.

  "How's the ankle?"

  "It hurts some." She grinned. "Can I get bombed?"

  "Do you want to?"

  "No," she said. She arched an eyebrow. "I'll keep my wits about me, thank you." Then she hobbled out of the kitchen, the towels fluttering behind her like a streamer.

  Flash uncorked the wine bottle. He popped the tab of his beer can. As he carried them into the living room, the telephone rang, adding its clamor to the noise of the approaching helicopter.

  "The phone," Alice said.

  "I'll get it," he told her. It rang two mores times as he filled her glass.

  "Might be Nick," she said, a look of fear in her eyes.

  Taking the beer with him, he rushed back into the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

  "Hi, Flash, it's Scott."

  "Anything wrong?"

  "The kids are . . ." The roar of the helicopter drowned him out.

  "What was that? We've got one of those fucking cop choppers raising Cain."

  "I was just saying the kids are off to the movies. How're Alice and Rose doing?"

  "Aaah. Who knows? Okay, I guess. Nick fill you in?"

  "Yeah. He said the operation went fine."

  "She'll be in a cast for a while. They don't think there'll be any permanent damage, but they aren't making any promises. You know doctors."

  "I sure hope it turns out all right. Look, one reason I called, I was wondering if you'd like to bring the bunch over tomorrow. Nick thought it sounded like a pretty good idea."

  "I bet he did," Flash said. Chuckling, he took a swig of beer. "Those two sure hit it off, huh?"

  "I'd say so."

  "Well, sounds real good to me. I'll have to check with the general, but if I don't call back, you can expect us. Around what time?"